


Beast of Burden

by MaxBetta



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Carnival, Childbirth, F/M, Rescue, SanSan Secret Santa, Wedding, Wedding Night, farm, sansan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 18:05:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17105534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaxBetta/pseuds/MaxBetta
Summary: Abandoned and later abused, Sandor Clegane escapes a life of darkness thanks to the kindness of a mysterious redhead.





	Beast of Burden

**Author's Note:**

  * For [janie_tangerine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/gifts).



> Thanks to Suchahag for the title suggestion, and to the lovely (and mysterious) beta who shared their feedback.

**October 1929**

 

_The whole town would talk. All of them. Everyone would know. Yes, this is the only way._

 

Mr. Clegane stood across from his youngest son, Sandor, at the train station. It was the middle of the night and the only witnesses would be ladies of the evening and intoxicated men finally making their way home in a drunken stupor. He regarded his son once again, not with the eyes of a father, but with the cold gaze of a businessman. It had been just three days since the incident, and already the Clegane family had begun to suffer the financial consequences. Mr. Clegane made up a story that Sandor’s bed had caught fire, which satisfied the curious minds that seemed to follow him wherever he went. With Mrs. Clegane ill and all of the children too young to work, his tailoring business was the only thing keeping them afloat. He could barely afford to feed them enough as it was, imagine if the whole town ever found out the truth of what had happened that night. A father who couldn’t control his own household? A son prone to violent outbursts? He would never work again. No, he must keep that secret buried by any means necessary.

 

Gregor was already large and would no doubt be adept at manual labor, and soon, perhaps within the year. Their littlest one, their only girl, was a beauty and would likely have her choice of desirable (and wealthy) suitors. But Sandor, with half his face ruined...he would be a burden on them for the rest of his life. No, that couldn’t happen. This would be easier. He had discussed it with his wife the night before, as she lay in pain from the fever that relentlessly coursed through her body. They agreed. With little to no money and rumors of a depression on the horizon, this was the only way they could survive the coming winter.

 

Clegane looked around to see if anyone was watching and then squatted down so that he was eye level with Sandor.

 

“My boy, you will not understand this for quite some time, but someday you will. You have become a burden to your mother and I. I know that it was not your fault, what happened, but the outcome is the same. We simply cannot afford to keep you. If we pay the doctor for your care, we can’t pay for food. If we tell people the truth of what happened, my business will suffer and there will be no income for our family. Think of your little sister. Would you want her to starve?”

 

Sandor was confused, still not fully aware of what was about to happen, but he shook his head and wiped at his runny nose with a dirty hand.

 

“I am leaving you here tonight in the hopes that some soul will take pity on you and take you in. Perhaps you’ll find a home better than the one you had with us.” He stood upright, and gave his son a pat on the unbandaged side of his head. “I wish you good fortune.”

 

Before Sandor could even register what was happening, or think to react, his father had disappeared. Clutching the little burlap sack that he held in his hands, he once again looked for his father, only to see nothing but clouds of early morning mist between the trains. Looking around, he saw a small wooden bench. He walked over to it and sat down. Opening the cloth sack his father had given him, he saw that it contained one change of clothes, a heel of bread, and one apple. No money. Of course not. They had none. Sandor sat there patiently, watching the trains come and go, trying to ignore the cold that seeped through the holes in his clothing and caused his small body to tremble.  The dark sky slowly began to fade to blue as sunrise came near.

 

_I’ll wait here. Father will come back for me. He must. And when he does, I will be such a good boy. He will be so glad that he changed his mind. Yes, he will come back. I’m sure of it._

  


**October 1949**

  


Sansa handed a nickel to the man behind the table just as he handed her a paper cone full of freshly popped corn. It was chilly out, and she hadn’t eaten lunch before coming to the carnival, so the buttered popcorn smelled like heaven. She walked along as she ate, looking at the various booths and acts that were available. There was a fortune teller, a palm reader, an entire family of acrobats, and a man who juggled bowling pins that had been set on fire. Next to the juggler’s performance area, there was a small wooden stage with a well dressed fat man in a top hat standing on it. He began to yell above the crowd of people walking by.

 

“Come one, come all, see the freak known as ‘Sandor the Burned Man!’ A face so hideous, you have to see it to believe it! He’s a monster with the strength of five men! Come one, come all, look at him if you dare!”

 

Sansa stepped closer as a crowd gathered around the stage. She had expected to see a man with his face painted to look like burns. What she saw, however, was something vastly different. There was a very large man inside of a tall metal cage that had thick black bars close together. He was filthy from head to toe. His clothing was torn and dirty, and his long black hair was greasy and unkempt. He looked underweight for his frame. On one of his ankles there was a large metal shackle which was attached by chain to a huge cannonball. Sansa’s heart sank. She felt a disturbance deep within her. This man wasn’t a freak, he was a slave. She found herself wondering how he had ended up there. What could he possibly have done to deserve life chained up inside of a cage?

 

Satisfied that a large enough crowd had formed, the announcer tapped on the cage lock three times with his cane, then walked over and unlocked it. He stepped back, allowing Sandor to come out for all to see. He hobbled out of the cage slowly, his face looking defeated. Sansa noticed that he looked almost dead behind the eyes. Anger began to swell within her as she thought of her brothers, of how she would feel if one of them were subjected to such an awful existence. Her eyes were beginning to water. The announcer was still going on about the man being a beast, dangerous, the stuff of nightmares, and so on. Sansa tuned him out, as if she were in a trance. That was, until, he decided to use his cane. Apparently “The Burned Man” had not been giving an angry enough performance. The man hit him first behind the knee, then again on his left side just below the ribs. Each hit was followed with a deep groan of pain. Sansa had seen, and heard, enough.

 

“Stop it!  Stop it! YOU are the monster, not him!” Sansa couldn’t remember the last time she had shouted. Everyone in the crowd turned to look at the crazy loud woman with red hair. Sandor looked at her with a mixture of shock and confusion. The announcer was none too pleased.

 

“Young lady, I will run my carnival as I see fit. Now, if this particular show isn’t to your liking, perhaps you should continue walking.”

 

Sansa was furious. She stepped closer until her knees were almost touching the wooden stage.

 

“This show is not a show at all. You are mistreating this man! Look at him! Can’t you see what you’re doing to him?!”

 

The man cleared his throat and looked around, noticing that people were beginning to lose interest and walk away. The crowd had been reduced by more than half. Angered, He lifted his cane, pointing it toward Sansa with the intention of kicking her out of the carnival, but the moment he raised it from his side, Sandor was overcome with rage. In one quick movement he lifted the cannonball with both hands and smashed it down over the announcer’s head, killing him instantly. What remained of the crowd erupted into screams and panic. Everyone was leaving. Everyone but Sansa. She stood there, staring up at him. For some strange reason, she was not afraid. She understood that he had done it to protect her. Something about him called to her, as if there were a hidden magnetic force drawing the two of them closer together. She had to free him. She stepped up onto the stage and scanned their surroundings. Keys. She crouched down and grabbed the large key ring from the dead announcer's belt, then turned to face the shackle. It wasn’t until the seventh key she tried that she was able to free him from the large metal cuff that had been digging into the skin of his ankle.

 

Free of his chain, Sandor remained there, unmoving, breath ragged, looking down at her. Sansa stood up straight, tossing the key ring to the ground. For some strange reason, she had the desire to touch him. She placed one hand on his burned cheek. He closed his eyes and sank into her touch. Sansa was enjoying the moment when the distant sound of sirens snapped her to reality. If they were still there when law enforcement arrived, Sandor would be arrested for sure. He would be put behind bars once again. Sansa would not, could not, allow that to happen.

 

“Through the woods, there is a farm less than two miles from here. Stark Farm. My family owns it. Come with me. You’ll be safe there.“

 

Sandor continued staring at her as if she weren’t real, as if it were all just a dream.

 

“We must go! Quickly! The sheriff will be here any minute!”

 

He nodded and both he and Sansa took off running toward the treeline. His long legs were stiff, and his gait was clumsy, but he still managed to move fast enough. It took them about an hour to make it through the woods to the safety of Stark farm. Sansa was sure to run ahead and explain things to her family first. Sandor’s appearance was rather frightening, and she didn’t want them to get the wrong idea.

 

Once she told them of how he was treated, and what he had done when he thought someone was going to harm her, they welcomed him into their home gladly. After taking his first bath in who knows how long, and devouring three full plates of fried chicken and mashed potatoes, Sansa showed him to what would be his room.

 

Sandor looked at the large wooden bed and the wallpapered walls. There was a thick homemade quilt and four soft looking pillows. It was just a simple bedroom, but compared to where he had been sleeping, it was a palace. Sansa wished him goodnight and he nodded in return, closing the door for the night. He was clean, and his belly was full. He had a room all to himself with a warm bed and a window that overlooked a large field. His heart swelled to near bursting when he thought of the red haired beauty who had changed his life more than she would ever understand.

  


It was one month into Sandor’s new life as a farmhand, and things were going beautifully.

For the first time in two decades, he was starting to feel like a human. He was no longer someone’s property. Sure, he worked at the Stark farm, and he worked hard, but he was paid for it. And, honestly, it felt good to end the day physically exhausted. It was better than being locked in a cage or chained up like he had been for so long.

 

There were small pleasures here and there that made the work more enjoyable. Sansa caught him playing with the barn kittens on more than one occasion. She often brought his lunch to the barn in the afternoon and would sit and eat with him. Sometimes when they were done eating, they would talk. Talking was something he had not done in a very long time. It was difficult at first, but Sansa made it easier. She was his favorite person to talk to, by far. Her family was kind and he got along well with her brothers, but he found himself missing Sansa when she wasn’t around. Something about her presence comforted him, put him at ease. So much so, in fact, that he shared his most precious secret with her.

 

It was after lunch one afternoon and they were sitting near one another on separate piles of hay. He couldn’t explain why, but it just spilled out of him. He told her everything. How he was burned, how his family lied about it, and how he was abandoned at a train station in the freezing cold when he was just a child. When he was finished speaking, he looked over and thought he saw Sansa wipe a tear from her face. It was several minutes before she spoke.

 

“When I was a young girl, the other children would bully me because my hair was red. They would call me ‘tomato’ and pull at my pigtails. I hated it. I would come home from school, my face red from crying. One afternoon, after a particularly bad day, I tried smearing my hair with black shoe polish. I was desperate to hide the color. That evening, when my mother was washing it out of my hair, she said, ‘My darling, you were kissed by fire. That is a gift, not something to be ashamed of.’ Perhaps you should think of it that way as well. If you hadn’t been burned by your awful brother, or left by your father, you never would have been at the carnival, and I never would have met you.”

 

Without thinking, Sandor reached out with one hand, lightly brushing his fingers against hers. Once he realized what he had done, he fully expected her to pull away or remove his hand. Instead, she glanced in his direction, maintaining eye contact for a few seconds. There was something in his touch, their connection, that gave Sansa’s whole body a rush. After about a minute, she stood abruptly and brushed the stray bits of hay from her dress.

 

“I need to be going, lots to do before sundown. Thank you...for sharing what you did.” She gave him a nervous smile before picking up the picnic basket and leaving. He sat a few moments more, drinking in the memory of what had just happened. Her skin was so perfect, soft and smooth, flawless. He was feeling something. Happiness, perhaps? Whatever it was, he only felt it when she was around.

 

Lying in bed that night, Sansa thought about friends who were getting married and having babies. The idea of marriage simply had never appealed to her. Then again, she had never met anyone who had made the idea of marriage appealing. There were also the girls from her high school who had disappeared to another country for a year or so. Of course, it was always found out later that they had gotten themselves pregnant out of wedlock. Sansa knew what sex was. She grew up on a farm, for goodness sakes. She saw animals breeding all the time. But she had never wanted to engage in that sort of thing herself. She’d never had the desire. Lately, however, her mind had been playing games with her. She’d be mid conversation with Sandor and suddenly imagine what it would be like to kiss his lips, or feel his strong arms around her waist. Sometimes she would catch herself looking at him and admiring his body. That morning, for example. She had walked outside to pick what was left of the peas in their garden when she saw a shirtless Sandor splitting firewood. His body was perfectly muscled and covered almost completely in dark hair from his beard all the way down his chest to his...well, she supposed there was hair there as well. He glistened with a sheen of sweat, and there was something attractive about the control and precision he had with the axe. It went exactly where he wanted it to go every time, and his upper lip twitched as the axe split each log in two. Sansa’s mind had begun to wander, thinking of how it would feel to be pressed up against his body. Wondering if his expertise with his hands carried over into other areas of life. She had been staring at him for almost ten minutes before she finally snapped out of it. What was wrong with her?

 

Fortunately she had been able to control herself the rest of the day. But now, staring at her bedroom ceiling, she thought of him again. Did he think of her when he was alone? What were his thoughts on marriage? Envisioning what her ideal husband would be like, Sandor had just about every quality she could want. She found him attractive, he was hard working, and protective, and he treated her with kindness...what else could a woman ask for? Just before she finally drifted off to sleep, Sansa had made up her mind. She was going to speak with her father in the morning, and she was going to speak with him about marriage. Her marriage.

 

To say that Ned Stark had been shocked would be an understatement. His face turned ghost white when Sansa notified him of her intentions.

 

“Wait, you want to marry Sandor?  I didn’t know that you two were together.”

 

“Well, we aren’t. Not exactly. It’s more of an unspoken thing. But I believe that he would agree to a marriage if he knew that it was my idea.”

 

Ned shook his head in disbelief. “Sansa, are you sure about this? Think about what you are saying.”

 

“Father, I have thought about it. Sandor and I could marry here at the farm. We could live in the old fishing cabin on the other side of the property. He would take care of me, father. I know he would.”

 

“Well, he is a hard working man, I have no doubt about that. Why don’t you let me speak to him. If he agrees, then I will allow it.”

 

Sansa rushed into her father’s arms and squeezed him tight. “Oh, thank you! Thank you!”

 

Sansa didn’t know when exactly her father would speak to Sandor, which resulted in several awkward run-ins with him that day. She didn’t say much, just smiled and waved every time they walked by one another. Finally, late afternoon about an hour before sundown, Ned approached Sandor in the cattle pen. The conversation didn’t last long. Sandor’s eyes doubled in size when Ned revealed Sansa’s intentions. He swallowed, steadied himself, then responded with two simple words.

 

“I agree.”

 

Word spread fast throughout their small town that Ned Stark’s eldest daughter was no longer available. The news prompted an unexpected visit from one of Sansa’s most aggressive, and least desirable, admirers. Sheriff Baelish. Everyone was in front of the house, tending to the flower beds and spreading mulch, when the sheriff's vehicle pulled into the dirt driveway. Sansa looked around frantically for a place that Sandor could quickly hide, but there was no time. Baelish parked in front of the house and walked up the brick walkway, shaking hands with Ned and greeting Sansa and the rest of the family.

 

“My dear Sansa, congratulations on your betrothal. Is this the lucky man?” He extended a hand to Sandor, who took great pleasure in squeezing it until the man’s wormy lips quivered. His message was received. Taking a few awkward steps backward, Baelish decided it was time to make an exit. “Well, I must be going. I only wanted to stop by and wish you well.” He quickly shuffled back to the car and disappeared with a cloud of dust down the dirt road.

 

Sansa was worried. “He left so quickly...do you think he recognized Sandor?”

 

Ned put his hands on her shoulders and smiled reassuringly. “Not a chance. I forgot to tell you, I ran into him at the feed store a few days ago. I asked if there had been any leads on the carnival murder. Apparently, all of the witnesses gave such exaggerated accounts of what the killer looked like that they haven’t been able to make any progress. The murderer was described as being ten feet tall with bumpy green skin and red eyes. I’ve never seen a man who looks like that, have you?”

 

Sansa breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps that was the best wedding gift of all, the knowledge that they wouldn’t have to hide anymore. Sandor was so clean and healthy looking, nobody would recognize him even if they had given an accurate description of what he had looked like at the time. They were free.

 

Barely two weeks later, Sandor and Sansa were wed in a simple wedding at the farm. She carried a bouquet of daisies, and afterwards they all celebrated with a roast pig, several fruit pies, and gallons of lemonade. When it was finally too dark to see outside, Sansa suggested that she and her new husband head to what would be their home together. It took about ten minutes to walk from the main house to the fishing cabin. It was small, but it had everything they would need. A bedroom, a bathroom, a kitchen, and a nice sitting area with a large stone fireplace.

 

Sansa went into the bathroom to change for bed, and when she came out, Sandor was already under the covers. Fully clothed. She got into bed on the other side and examined his face. He was clearly awake but pretending to be asleep.

 

“Hello my husband.” One of his eyelids twitched, but otherwise there was no movement. “Sandor, I know you’re awake. Can you look at me please?” He exhaled sharply through his nose and opened his eyes, allowing them to meet hers. “You know, there are certain things that people do on their wedding night.”

 

His face was emotionless. “I’m aware.”

 

“Well, don’t you think we should?”

 

He waited a long time before responding. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

 

Sansa tried her best to reassure him. “I’m told that it’s normal for it to hurt at first…”

 

“No, not that.” A look of concern grew on his face. “ What if I can’t control myself and I’m too rough with you? What if I put too much weight on you and crush you? If I harmed you...I could never forgive myself.”

 

Sansa placed a hand on his cheek, just as she had the day they first met. “I know that you would never hurt me. But I’ve wanted this moment with you for quite some time, and if you deprive me on my wedding night, you’re going to have more than your own forgiveness to worry about.”

 

He couldn’t hold back the small chuckle that escaped him. All his life, he had never known happiness until he met her. Even now, in bedclothes and completely stripped of makeup, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He was a fool to think he could possibly resist her. He lifted the covers and slid closer until he was up against her body. He covered her with kisses from her forehead, to her lips, to her chest, and lower. Tonight, he would make her feel like she was the most precious gift in the world, because that was how he viewed her.

 

It was almost sunrise when they finally went to sleep. Sansa clung to him, still panting. They had made love four times before finally succumbing to blissful exhaustion. There was nowhere in the world she would rather be than right there, her ear to his chest, his steady heartbeat lulling her to sleep.

 

**August 1950**

 

It was a miracle Sandor hadn’t worn a path into the floorboards the way he was pacing outside of the bedroom door. It had been almost 3am when Sansa’s water had broken. Less than an hour later, the doctor was there at the house with his special bag. He and Sansa had gone into the bedroom and hadn’t come out since. That was almost six hours ago.

 

Finally, after a scream and a few gasping sounds, a baby’s cry could be heard in the hallway. A few minutes later, the doctor opened the door and shook Sandor’s hand.

 

“Congratulations, both mother and baby are doing well. I’m going to the car to get my scale, I’ll be right back to weigh the baby.”

 

Sandor nodded, then nervously entered the bedroom. Sansa was glowing, but there was a hint of a smirk playing at her lips.

 

He approached them cautiously. “What is that face about?”

 

Sansa was holding the baby tightly bundled in a thin white blanket. She turned it so that Sandor could see the face. “It’s a girl.”

 

He admired the precious features that he and Sansa had made together, the perfect being that they had created with their love. “A girl. A beautiful girl.”

 

“There’s more.”

 

“How do you mean?”

 

Sansa pulled back the portion of the blanket that was covering the top of the baby’s head, revealing a tuft of fiery red hair.

 

Sandor stroked the small patch of fuzz with his index finger. As if their minds were in sync with one another, he and Sansa both said the same thing at the same time.

 

“Kissed by fire.”


End file.
